Thunderstorm
by Spazzcat-Katori
Summary: It's the thunder that wakes him up. And it's the storm that makes them remember. Oneshot.


Summary: It's the thunder that wakes him up. And it's the storm that makes them remember.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

oooooooooooooooooooo

Matthew Williams, Canada, wakes up at the crashing noise. He sits up, blinking in the darkness. A bright flash blinds him for a moment, and he fumbles with one hand to find his glasses on the bedside table as another rolling crash tumbles through the air. Putting the glasses on, he sees that it's just past three o'clock in the morning, and the rain is pounding on the window between the blasts of thunder.

It's the middle of the night, but then again that's often the case when a thunderstorm comes calling. So Matthew pulls himself to his feet, running a tired hand through messy blonde hair, and steps out of his room into the familiar hallway of his home. After all these years, he doesn't need the lightning flashes to help him find his way, and he knows exactly where everyone will be tonight while the storm roils overhead.

The first two doors he passes stand open, the bedrooms beyond empty and silent. In the third, the Territories are gathered on Yukon's bed as he and Northwest comfort a tiny Nunavut. She's scared of the noise, because her people know that loud crashing often means breaking ice or an avalanche. Her older brother's know those sounds too, so it's not only for their sister's sake that every light in the room is turned on to show their surroundings. Matthew leans against the doorway for a few moments, listening as they take turns telling old Inuit legends and tales of daring prospectors to pass the long hours.

He keeps walking. Further down the hallway, Saskatchewan and Alberta are sitting on the former's bed playing go fish. The clock radio on the desk is set to the weather station, and the two silent provinces look up worriedly whenever the reporter mentions the wind. As long as there is no mention of tornados, they go back to their game and keep listening. But there are two duffel bags next to the bed; Saskatchewan has packed up her most valued items and so has her sister so that if a tornado is sighted they can dart downstairs to the basement whenever necessary. Matthew doesn't think there will be one tonight, but he leaves the prairie provinces to their game and keeps walking.

Quebec is asleep, he notes in passing, but she's left her door open so any excited yelling will wake her up. She's the most relaxed of her provincial siblings, at least, now that the storm has replaced the suffocating heat that preceded it. The heat is the most hated part of thunderstorms for the French province, a reminder of many deadly fires over the years. Heavy rain is a welcome the next room, New Brunswick is less confident. His light is off, so the lightning flashes silhouette him against the window as he stares out, watching in case the electrical discharges start a forest fire. Matthew watches his son for a moment, then heads downstairs.

British Columbia and Newfoundland are in the living room, flipping the television channel from one news station to the next. Newfoundland relaxes as he sees that the weather in his lands is calm, then switches it to a west coast broadcast for his sister. She looks anxious at the reports of bad weather on the ocean, but her brother murmers something about modern technology keeping ships safer and she settles a bit. From the doorway, Matthew senses the unspoken afterthought about oil rigs and gives a faint sigh.

In the kitchen, Prince Edward Island is chattering aimlessly about meandering topics as he makes some hot soup for Nova Scotia. The older Maritime Province gives a weak, grateful smile to her little brother, then flinches at another crack of thunder. Ninety-three years have dulled the nightmares of the terrible Halifax Explosion, but the loud crashes in the storm always bring them back to the surface. The island province smiles sadly and starts to talk loudly about the new movie being filmed in home, trying to drown out the sound of the storm.

At the side of the kitchen, Ontario is sitting at the top of the basement stairs. Several steps below, Manitoba is scanning the floor for any sign of water. Generations of floods on the Red River have made the younger province slightly paranoid, even though it's the wrong season for his river to overrun its banks. And his brother has never quite been able to shake the fear of another Hurricane Hazel, even though it hasn't happened in the fifty-five years since then. So the two of them watch for rising water, listening to the muffled sound of the rain outside.

Satisfied that his provinces are calm and keeping themselves occupied, Matthew makes his way to the empty veranda. Sitting on the hammock, he closes his eyes and just listens. Thunder crashes, sounding like avalanches and rockslides and explosions. Lightning flashes, flicking on and off like a gigantic spark and threatening fire. The pouring rain blocks out all sight and swells the rivers and lakes, while the wind whips up gigantic waves and churns the clouds into a froth. Matthew sits and remembers hundreds of years of dangers and disasters, brought to his memory by the way they are echoed by the weather.

His provinces hate thunderstorms. He doesn't blame them. And he can't say he cares for thunderstorms much either.


End file.
